A-O River
by PoetTraveler
Summary: Nick is back in Portland months after the Season 2 finale only to have to face his greatest adversary yet. And by greatest adversary, he means obnoxious pest who won't stop ruining his life.


A/N – Oh man, that _episode_… Warning! Here there be spoilers and a lot of speculation for the aftermath for _Goodnight, Sweet Grimm. _So far as this story goes, let's put it sometime mid-season three after the gang is all back together again. Because that's totally going to happen.

Also, Fred Armisen totally tried crashing the Grimm set in full Portlandia costume to be a background player – so that Grimm and Portlandia can exist in the same universe. This author completely approves.

Though she totally did _not _need further justification to write a story to put her two favorite Portland shows together. You hear that Sacagawea? Sacagawea? Sacagawea! Aren't you going to address us? You can hear me. I know it's not because of the volume of the water!

oOo

**A-O River**

"_**There's a big snake in the plan, Jock!"**_

"_**Oh, that's just my pet snake, Reggie."**_

"_**I hate snakes, Jock! I hate 'em!"**_

"_**Come on! Show a little backbone, will ya!"**_

_-Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) to Jock (Fred Sorenson), Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981_

oOo

_There's a certain amount of irony in all of this_, Nick Burkhardt thinks to himself as he's hurdling down the Columbia River. He's managed to survive the Royals, the Verrat and his days of playing Han Solo frozen in carbonite for smarmy Prince Eric only to be taken out by a _waschbar._

Why'd it have to be a _waschbar?_

He reaches numb fingers out towards an outcropping, but the rocks are slick with moss and he has no traction to hang on. His arms flail against nothing but foam as he flies further downstream.

Oh, Furbisher is going _down_ if he ever gets out of this river.

Nick knows he has to get out of the water soon – it has been an unusually rainy fall pushing the river past its banks, raising it anywhere from two to four feet deeper than normal with increasingly violent rapids and waterfalls. The water itself is bone achingly cold and he's losing feeling in his extremities.

That, or his feet have fallen off sometime since he took the header into the Columbia.

Nick is incredibly amused by the idea of his feet drifting to the silty river bottom – maybe they'll find their way home before he does. They'll just walk, walk, walk all the way to Northeast and Juliette will let his feet in, warm them up and his toes will be toasty warm and waiting for him when gets to shore.

Nick gasps as the whitewater drags him down and then back up again. He coughs up the mouthful of water he took with him and madly wipes the water from his face. He recognizes that he's losing it, that his body is ready to shut down if he doesn't do something soon.

But then Nick wonders about his feet meeting the Addams Family Hand and drowsily thinks that he would watch that tv show. Or, he would gladly watch Juliette watch that show and how she would gleefully rant about the medical impossibility of it all – that nervous systems need a control center and that's not science, damn it all Hollywood.

The shore is a good ten to fifteen feet away on one side with boulders cropping up at random – he tries to either cling to or shove off the rocks before his head gets bashed in. The starboard side of the bank is much closer – if the water was shallow it wouldn't be hard to crawl up on shore. But the water is deep here, it's much higher than he is tall.

He struggles for another breath, to keep his head above the rolling tide. There's a mass of branches and downed trees not too far ahead. If he can just grab hold of just one…

Nick kicks out toward shore as hard as he can, shoves his hands through the icy water to pull himself forward. The current is strong and he's not even sure if he's gaining any sort of ground. He zones in on the nearest log, fights against the exhaustion and shock that settles heavily on his shoulders and makes one steady stroke after another.

He grabs hold of the tree trunk, bear hugging it for all its worth. Nick pants heavily and rests his head against the bark stripped wood with relief. He can do this – just needs to pull himself out of the water, easy peasy George and Weezie. Looping his arm over and around a broken off branch gives him enough leverage that he's not going to go flying downstream any moment while he struggles to pull the rest of his body out of the water.

Nick pulls and pulls himself up, enough so that he's at least halfway out of the river. After dragging one leg up over the log so he's belly-flopped over it, Nick closes his eyes and stops fighting off the exhaustion that just won't go away.

Besides, Renard and Hank won't be long. They prolly got him lo-jacked after his adventures in European white slavery anyways…

oOo

Detective Hank Griffin tries to keep up the pace, but there's just no way that he can run as fast as a _Grimm_, a half-_Zauberbiest_ and whatever their suspect has turned out to be. There's a twinge at his ankle as well, reminding him of how tender his Achilles still is, how he is barely off crutches after a long rehab. So he stops to catch his breath, calling in for back up on the way.

The hideaway isn't large – a three roomed cabin tucked back deep in the forest with nothing more than a muddy double tracked path marking the way. Their suspect, one Miles Furbisher, originally of Portland Southeast has laid out the evidence cleanly – the five diamond necklaces and twelve jeweled broaches were all laid out on white canvas on the living room floor – along with what looked like the gun that wounded the jewelry store owner three nights ago.

Hank stands there confirming with dispatch the cabin's location. That's when he hears a gunshot and what can only be Renard cursing loudly and violently. He demands an ambulance be sent along with back up, shoves his phone back in his pocket and then takes off on a jog towards the river.

Pulling his gun, Hank carefully approaches only to see Captain Sean Renard running alongside the Colombia's steep banks. The river is a good fifteen foot drop from where Hank's standing on the edge with what looks to be Miles Furbisher clotheslined on a large branch, flopping pitifully over the water. It looks like he took a shot to the leg and Hank can see the blood seeping down the man's jeans.

Nick, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen.

Hank takes another look at Renard's rapidly disappearing form, the river and back to the man in the tree. _Damn it all, Nick_ – he thinks while training his gun on their suspect who is trying to shimmy down the oak's branches.

"Don't even think about it, Miles," Hank commands. "You and me are going to spend some quality time together before the rest of my friends get here. Just be careful though, my finger's feeling a little itchy here…"

Furbisher groans and tightens his grip on the tree branch.

"No seriously," Hank continues. "Keep it up and I will shoot you. It'd make my day a whole lot easier."

The man does that little head tilt thing – like he's getting ready to woge. Hank reflexively tightens his grip on his gun because while he saw Nick and Renard's reactions to their suspect, neither one had the time to fill Hank in on what the species of the week was.

It must be bad though – Hank didn't even realize Nick _knew_ some of those words he used. On the other hand, the Captain seemed thoroughly entertained by Nick's vehement reaction...

Hank sighs – he misses the good old days when he had just psychotic humans to deal with who weren't always gunning for his Grimm-O-Vision partner.

When Miles finally does woge, Hank is thoroughly underwhelmed. The man looks kinda, sorta, maybe like Bud Wurstner if you squinted a little after downing a few cold ones, with a gray and black band of fur around his eyes. "Really," he says somewhat exasperated. "I'm on a first name basis with a _blutbad_. You're going to have to do better than that if you're trying to scare me."

That's when something catches his eye – well_ that_ is different. Huh, who knew?

Hank eagerly hopes the black and gray-ring tail split Furbisher's pants.

oOo

Sean Renard races along the banks of the Colombia. He can see his detective travel steadily downstream, though Nick is fighting the current as hard as he can. Nick's head disappears under the water for a moment before reappearing and Sean knows, knows, knows he only has so long to pull his _Grimm_ out of the river.

He easily jumps over the down trees and rocks that run over and near the riverside trail and pushes through with another burst of speed. Renard lets the _Zauberbiest_ surge forward, allowing him to gain more agility and power than the Royal ever could.

The banks of the river transform from imposing rocky cliffs to a gentler slope that eases into flat ground that is both a curse and a blessing – he doesn't have the field of view that he did before – but if Nick floats near enough, Sean can just drag him out of the water.

The underbrush is thick and crunches heavily under Sean's feet and he can hear Griffin taunting their suspect in the distance. Good, that is one less thing he needs to worry about. The _waschbar_ won't be able to run off and hide.

Burkhardt is near – the _Grimm presence_ is steadily growing stronger and stronger and Sean slows to a jog. There are very few times that he allows himself to track his quarry solely using his _Zauberbiest_ self. It's incredibly efficient though it's not something he ever truly allowed himself to take pride or pleasure in until recently.

It wasn't until he saw for himself the full extent of his Family's plan – for the key, for the future of Europe and what part the Portland _Grimm _would play in it – that he fully showed himself to those outside the Family and willfully joined in as partners with the Laufer and the Wesen Council.

With the help of de Groot, his assistant Alexander and Renard's own contact – it had been long and laborious _months_ of searching for Nick Burkhardt. That his family had captured the _Grimm_ for the key did not surprise Renard. But their desire to use the man to reestablish a _Grimm_ line to serve the Royals like _Hexenbiester_ did.

That they attempted to breed a _Grimm_ with a _Hexenbiest _and also a _Hundjager_ was the most disturbing of all.

Renard pauses. _Here_, he thinks. Nick has to be right _here_.

Sean scans the shoreline, deciding right then and there that he may never let Burkhardt outside the Precinct building again. For all the _Grimm _has been through – and for Renard's own peace of mind – it may just be worth Burkhardt's protests to keep such a giant target off the streets.

"Nick," he yells over the crash of the river. "Nick, where are you?"

The _presence_ is heavy and undeniable and then Renard sees a pale hand floating in the water. Nick is laid out over the broad trunk of a tree. He's not moving, not even twitching.

Pulling Nick in isn't going to be a simple as wading out to where he's lying. The water is deep here, but if Sean can crawl across the five feet of log jam…

"Burkhardt," he shouts as he pauses long enough to pull off his jacket, cell phone and gun, piling them on a dry rock above the water line. "Nick, come on!"

The mound of logs and branches is fairly sturdy and judging from the fern growth, it's been here a long while. Renard moves quickly from tree trunk to tree trunk until he's crouching on a log perpendicular to Nick.

Nick is soaked – the man's lips are blue and his skin is icy to the touch. His face is scraped and bruised, but Nick's arms and legs aren't bending in the wrong direction – so they at least have that going for them. Renard checks his ribs next, but other than the torn sleeve with a small laceration underneath, there seem to be no serious injuries.

There is no easy way of doing this, Renard thinks as he wraps his arms around Burkhardt's torso and begins to drag Nick towards shore. He doesn't waste any time though – Renard practically sprints backwards across the logs, finding himself wishing that Burkhardt wasn't quite so _soggy._

Once they make it back to dry land, he lays Nick out on the dry, loamy forest floor. Sean picks up his phone and waves it around a bit before he can find decent reception to call dispatch.

When he finally reaches them, Renards tells them to hurry, that Detective Burkhardt went swimming and that there better be a rescue crew ASAP and oh, could someone please bring him a dry pair of shoes.

He pauses for a moment to take stock – ever so briefly allows himself to listen to the rushing river and the heady breeze that skates through the forest before taking stock of his charge. _Well, after the way this day has gone so far, it can only go up from here_, Renard muses.

"Hmgnfzums," Nick groans, flopping pitifully to one side.

"Hey, hey…" Renard says, very relieved that his detective is starting to come around – who he then has to pin down to keep from rolling right back into the river. "Take it easy…"

Burkhardt startles when he realizes he's not alone. He swings his arms toward Renard – Nick's eyes look rather glassy, like he's not actually seeing what's in front of him. Like he still thinks he's in a dungeon in Austria…

Renard speaks softly and carefully – talks about the Mayor's ridiculous plan to make the Portland Police seem less threatening with new uniforms after the Star Trek in the Park fiasco, Wu's attempt to gaslight Sargent Franco by daily changing the ink cartridges in his pens from all black ink to blue, as well as has he had the chance to get down to Fisherman's Porch yet for brunch? Those pancakes really are worth the wait.

"Capt'n…" Nick shivers after a moment. "That you?"

"Yeah, Nick," Renard amusedly says. "It's me. Can we get you sitting up?"

It takes several long moments before Nick actually groggily struggles to pull himself upright. Renard sits next to him, holding the _Grimm_ up while working off his sopping wet coat.

Nick is remarkably pliant as Renard eases his sweater and undershirt off before bundling the detective in his dry coat. There is a pair of gloves in the coat's pocket that are awkwardly put on, that Nick remains largely indifferent to – but he's looking far more thawed out than he did.

"Capt'n," Nick says solemnly.

"Yes?"

"You have coffee breath," he says almost mournfully. The detective flexes his glove covered hands like they're something he's never seen before, then looks up at Renard through his too-long hair. "I want coffee breath too."

Renard lets out an explosive laugh of relief, "Come on. What do you say we get out of here and I'll get you a cup?"

It's like the promise of a damn good cup of coffee is all that is needed to get the man staggering to his feet and determined to cross miles of Oregon's temperate rainforest. Renard keeps Nick upright and mobile as the detective determinedly rambles about the virtues of Ristretto Roasters and how he and Juliette have plans for the upcoming barista slam/jam.

"Their pour-over is just phenomenal – all they serve is single origin medium roasts. And their Cowboy Blend French Press," Nick continues on, waxing near rhapsodic – his love for coffee was near legendary around the precinct – which was really saying something considering it being _Portland_ and a _police station_, not to mention it being a_ Portland Police Station_, a Venn diagram crossover fanatical in their devotion. "With their buckwheat figgy scones…"

They're moving surprisingly fast, given Nick's dunking and almost certain concussion. This was _Grimm_ capacity healing though – the ability to bounce back, recover and press on, regardless of circumstances. Renard estimates he ran a good mile and a half chasing Nick downstream and even though they're trudging up-hill through forested underbrush, it's not long before they back to where the whole mess started.

Renard waves at Hank, who is far too gleefully taunting their suspect, before steering Nick towards the SUV in the driveway. Nick clamors into the backseat while Renard hurries to start the vehicle and put the heat on full blast.

"Here, I've got a blanket," Renard says after grabbing the first aid gear he keeps in the back.

Nick has shucked his shoes and socks and is working the button on his pants with shaking fingers. "Thanks," he says, tucking the thick Woolrich blanket around himself.

"I've got extra sweats in here. Get changed," Renard answers, handing Nick his gym bag. He studies his _Grimm _struggle momentarily, "Do you need help?"

"No," Nick yelps, using the blanket to hide his dignity. "I got it. But thanks though."

Renard nods and closes the truck's door, standing guard. He expected this response from Nick and could hardly fault him for it. Sean was not the one to rescue Burkhardt from the basement of his half-brother's castle – that had been Alexander, Monroe and Juliette. But he had been there for the aftermath: the drugged out and skittish _Grimm_ was not the same one who viciously fought Renard over the theft of the key.

No, while the rescue had been going on at the castle, he had been far more occupied with Eric. While he had no real qualms with _disposing _of his brother, there was a small measure of regret – Sean would never return to Austria and quite possibly Europe ever again. But, as Rosalee Calvert was quick to point out afterwards, he had a Kingdom here in Portland – an eighth and relatively peaceful House that De Groot and the Wesen Council was happy to stand beside.

A quick rap against the glass window signals Nick is finished changing. Renard opens the door. "Better?" he asks.

"Yeah," Nick answers with a rueful grin. He's still wearing the gloves and rubbing his hands viciously together, though he seems almost _fine_ and not _half-drowned_ anymore. "Could you call Juliette? My phone's a little…"

"Here," Sean says not unkindly and passes Nick his phone. "Do it yourself."

Nick gives him a brilliant grin and happily calls his fiancée.

Renard closes the SUV's door again and pushes the lock button on his key fob – he is going to head back to see how Hank is faring with their suspect. He smiles to himself and decides that he's going to make Griffin climb the tree and arrest the _waschbar_.

Rank hath its privilege after all.

oOo

It's been a long and miserable day for Juliette Silverton. First there was the bull dog who had a horrible habit of eating what it shouldn't and then the fifteen year old cancer ridden house cat that had to be put down. Oh and then? Yeah – she had to de-worm a freaking ferret.

She shudders, ferrets are just the worst. The _smell _alone… Honestly? She'd rather don one of those arm length plastic gloves and shove her hand up a cow's ass than mess with those little monsters.

No seriously, she's done both. She'd pick the cow's ass every time.

But her silver lining just came in two minutes ago and she's looking forward to seeing how Sean Connery is recovering from his run-in with a push mower.

"Hey there," She says as she enters the treatment room.

There on the table was Sean Connery – a ridiculously named Yorkie – Bichon – Shih Tzu mix puppy. Objectively speaking, it may also quite possibly be the cutest thing Juliette has seen in her life – the micro-piglet and strawberry picture in People magazine aside. The pup was a tiny thing – almost two and a half pounds with a mischievous streak that lead it to sniffing out low-lying tools in the garage.

Connery's owner – the unfortunately named Honey Rider of Beaverton – perches on a stool, petting Sir Connery, who – all in all – seems quite annoyed at the tiny red bandana artfully tied around his neck.

"Hi Doctor Silverton!" Honey Rider greets excitedly.

She does everything excitedly, Juliette thinks - which must be a horribly exhausting way to live.

"So how's Connery doing today?" She asks while examining the healing cut on the pup's front right leg. "Has he been nibbling at the stitches? Or are you being a good boy, Mister Connery?"

"Oh, he's been great! But it's been hard to keep him inside when all he wants to do is splash in the puddles! Isn't it, my good boy! Oh yes," Honey continues as the pup licks her hand. "Who's momma's good boy?"

Juliette smirks as she examines the paw and leg closely, "Well it's healed well. The stitches are all ready to come out."

"Wonderful!" Honey squeals happily. "This is just fantastic!"

It takes only a few minutes to pull the two stitches from Sean Connery's paw and another ten minutes before Juliette ushers Honey Rider and Sean Connery back to the waiting room. Normally, this is something that one of the vet techs could handle, but Juliette is a sucker when it comes to tiny, adorable toy dogs that she usually insists on taking care of things herself if the patient load is slow.

One of these days, Juliette vows as Honey Rider and Sean Connery leave the building – she's going to get one of those adorable toy dogs. Nothing yippy, of course – but something cuddly and hypo-allergenic that won't shed like her parents' collie.

She doubts very much that Nick would object. Her boyfriend had been quite enamored of her Bichon, Samson, who died a month prior to Aunt Marie's infamous visit.

They had just never got around to getting another one…

She smiles as the clock in the waiting room catches her eye. It's almost quitting time for her – with her day starting on the early side, she planned on leaving early so that she could stop by the grocery store and put together a big romantic dinner for Nick.

Steak, Juliette decides. Steak and potatoes and that quinoa veggie salad Monroe gave her the recipe for.

Nick was still trying to get back to a healthy weight. And ever since Rosalee pointed out that Nick's _Grimm _metabolism was running higher than ever, Juliette was making a conscious effort to keep him from skipping meals, which he had a bad tendency toward when he worked difficult cases.

And if that meant Juliette had to stop by the Precinct at odd hours with a basketful of food, so be it. Things were different now, since Austria. And if Juliette and Nick were becoming even more clingy and co-dependent on the other than before, neither of them were complaining.

They knew who the other was and neither of them was currently kidnapped. Life really didn't get better than that.

Juliette happily fiddles with the engagement ring she keeps on a silver necklace while she's at work. It's beautiful – not too big and not too small, low key in a way that fits the both of them. Which reminds her that she needs to call to see if the wedding bands are finished. They placed the order three weeks ago, so they should be ready soon.

Juliette does a small fist pump of elation - she's finally getting married!

Her cell phone ringing distracts her from her little victory dance. She frowns when she sees who the caller is, but smiles again when she hears Nick's voice.

He sounds exhausted as he recounts his afternoon to her, but reassures her that he's okay after his swim in the Colombia. Juliette closes her eyes tightly and wills herself from screaming at the injustice of it all.

"Which hospital are you going to?" She asks. There is a noticeable pause on the line and Juliette continues, "You are going to the hospital, right Nick?"

"Um, yeah?" he answers hesitantly.

There is a slight mumbling in the background and suddenly it's Captain Renard she's speaking to, "We're taking him to Treeview, Juliette. He's fine – really. But I'd feel better if he had some x-rays."

"Thank you," she answers, her heart still stuck in her throat. "Just… I'll head over there right now, okay?"

"Okay, we'll see you there."

Juliette hangs up and shoves the phone in her purse. She leaves her lab coat hanging on the hook on her office door and tosses out goodbyes as she sprints to her car.

She settles in behind the wheel when the tears come out of nowhere and she can't stop sobbing long enough to start the car.

He's fine, she tells herself. He's fine.

Juliette takes one careful breath after another, calmly centering herself and mopping away any traces of smudged mascara and eyeliner with the tissues she keeps in the center storage console of her Subaru. She purposely thinks about some of the funnier parts of her day – like the Dalmatian that got loose and crapped all over Henry's office and eagerly tries to compose the best opening line for her story about Sean Connery and Honey Rider.

Juliette is determined to have a smile fixed firmly in place by the time she makes it to the hospital and if it takes extra laps around the block, that's exactly what she is going to do. Nick needs her support and not her tears right now.

Though if she runs into the man who pommel horse-d Nick into the Colombia, Juliette will not be held accountable for her actions.

The vet clinic is only two miles from home so Juliette decides to make a quick detour to pick up clothes and an extra pair of shoes for Nick. She sprints up the steps to the house and down to the basement where the laundry is. Before they had both left for work this morning, she had started a load and Nick shoved it all in the dryer after she'd gone.

She stuffs sweat pants, socks, sweatshirt and Nick's Smith Rock Sunrise Summer Classic t-shirt all into a canvas grocery bag and heads back up the stairs. Thinking about the shirt, Juliette briefly wonders if Nick might want to start training for the Portland Marathon again.

They had talked about it once, half-joking with all the 5k's and that one half-marathon they did that an additional thirteen miles would be nothing. It had been so _fun_ for them. Nick took such a crazy amount of joy from running and Juliette loved that she had someone to keep her motivated about her time.

Hmm, next year, she decides.

Nick's tennis shoes and a jacket are the next things she grabs before Juliette takes one last look before she heads out the door. She can't think of anything else she might need… Gah! She feels like she's forgetting something but whatever it is can't be so important that it can't wait.

The traffic lights are completely against her in a brilliant shade of red as she drives to Treeview Hospital. She wonders if the universe is toying with her but there's a decent spot in the parking lot not far from the ER entrance that seems almost like an apology for making her drive across town and in bad traffic.

She eagerly parks and gathers her purse, Nick's clothes and her travel coffee mug that she forgot there earlier this morning. She makes it through the double glass doors and the receptionist points her in the right direction, "He's in a room. Straight back, up the stairs and on the left, room two-two-seven."

Juliette gives a grateful smile and books it toward the stair well. The rooms are clearly labeled so it's not difficult to find her fiancée. She finds room two-two-s ven – seriously, how'd they lose an e? And why are they _words_ and not numbers? Seriously, Juliette thinks. Portland can just be so _precious _at times.

Nick is sitting upright on a bed bundled in several blankets and picking at the tape that's holding down the IV needle in his arm. He looks absolutely miserable – scrapes and cuts adorn his handsome face and it looks like he's breathing carefully.

"Hey babe," Juliette greets, setting down her pile of stuff on the chair by the bed.

Nick startles but he smiles wide with relief, "Hey there…" He coughs awkwardly and shifts, "Sorry…"

Juliette cuts him off, lays a finger on his lips and shushes him softly, "No apologies, hon." She studies him and notes the butterfly band-aid that's holding together a cut bisecting Nick's eyebrow and kisses it gently. "It looks like you went through a wringer-washer. What's the damage?"

"Well," Nick starts. "We're still waiting on the x-rays, but it's mostly bumps and bruises… " He holds up his left arm that's bandaged with fresh gauze, "I got a few stitches – I _think_ I caught it on a rock, but…" He shrugs, "I was moving a little too fast to tell what it was exactly. Stupid _waschbar…_"

"_Waschbar_," Juliette says, "I don't think I've reached that diary yet."

"They're raccoon wesen," Nick mutters petulantly. "This one was a jewel thief who shot the shopkeeper he was robbing a few nights ago. They like collecting _shiny _things."

"Oh, babe…" Juliette laughs. "I am so sorry."

"They're out to get me," Nick continues. "At our home, now at work…"

Juliette sits on the edge of the bed, kicks off her shoes and Nick scoots over to accommodate her, "Don't worry – I'll protect you from the fearsome raccoons."

"Yeah, you will."

Nick rests his head on her shoulder and Juliette slips an arm around him, holding him close to her. She kisses his forehead and they settle back against the mound of pillows. She's so relieved to see that Nick is okay – he's not great, beat all to hell and his breaths are sounding a little wheezy. Who knows how much water ended up in his lungs…

"Who's here with you," she prods.

Nick's eyes open a crack, "Huh?"

"You said that 'we're' still waiting on x-rays. Is Hank around here somewhere?"

"Oh, Renard drove me over," Nick says sleepily. "He's been popping in and out, doing… Captain-y… things on his phone. You didn't see him in the waiting room?"

"No, I didn't…" That Captain Renard was around somewhere probably monitoring Nick through security cameras wouldn't surprise Juliette in the least. The man had more henchmen and spies than seemed reasonable, but he woke her from that coma, helped her find Nick. Told her to fly to Spain to 'visit family' after Nick's disappearance and then smuggled her into Austria along with Monroe and Rosalee as a rescue crew after she demanded to not be left behind.

Juliette owes Renard _everything._

"He's sneaky," Nick mutters, nestling down till his head is all but on Juliette's lap. "There was a wheel chair waiting for us when we got here with my name on it."

"He's just trying to take care of you, hon," Juliette says, running her hand through Nick's hair. _They all were. _

He twists his head so that he can look at her straight on, "No seriously. The wheel chair _literally_ had my name on it."

Juliette snorts to which Nick raises his damaged eyebrow, a look that is roguishly handsome on him – a roguish look only compounded by the beard he hasn't shaved off this week. God, the _things_ this man does to her… She blushes and then kisses Nick deeply. He twines a hand in hers before settling back down beside her.

"Well, I guess he has a sense of humor deep down somewhere. Wu's going to be devastated he didn't get to see it for himself."

"Yeah, that's just what I need."

Juliette just smiles and hums to herself, "Awww… It's okay, bunky. I'll keep the mean, old police man from picking on you."

Nick sneezes loudly and repeatedly, sniffling miserably when he's done. Juliette reaches over to pull the box of tissues off the nightstand, pulls out a handful and Nick gives her a grateful look and blows his nose.

He groans and flops miserably on the mattress, "I don't think I'm gonna make that Echo Echo concert, Juliette…"

"We'll go next time. Or you know, we could quit our jobs, follow them on the road, camp like hobos…." Juliette slides down until she's lying next to Nick, gently rubbing his back.

"Like a _Bummel Boden_?" Nick asks, his eyes twinkling delightedly.

"Oh, come on," Juliette exclaims. "Now you're just screwing with me! There's a wesen roadie?"

"Well," Nick sniffs and coughs. "They're really more of a vagabond, drifter-type wesen. They don't really settle down in any one place – they just wander whenever they get the urge. You know – quit their jobs, camp like hobos…" he teases.

"This message brought to you by the Portland Chapter of the _Grimm _Foundation for Wesen Studies,_" _Juliette chuckles and moves her hand in an arc through the air, "The more you know…"

Nick smiles sleepily and yawns. Juliette curls up next to him and listens to his breaths, the nurses in the hall, the steady patter of rain hitting the windows.

This isn't the romantic evening she planned. But, Juliette thinks contentedly, at least they still wound up cuddling in bed together.


End file.
